


things my heart used to know (things it yearns to remember)

by flyingspaghettimonster



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adam and Adora are the cheering committee, Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra and Adora were in love okay !!!!!, Child Soldiers, Childhood Memories, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Feels, Gen, Healing, Kidnapping, King Randor is holding her crown, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Martyr Complex, Memory Alteration, POV Adora (She-Ra), Past Child Abuse, Princess Adora (She-Ra), Queen Marlena is going to fist fight Hordak and Shadow Weaver single-handedly, Rebirth, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, graphic violence and gore in the first chapter, taking some inspo from tangled & anastasia & prince of egypt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingspaghettimonster/pseuds/flyingspaghettimonster
Summary: "did i have a family? could i go back? a portal brought me here, could a portal take me...home?"you had forced yourself to become resigned to this fate; you may have a family out there, but you will never know them. perhaps it is for the best. that means they can peacefully daydream about the person their long lost baby could have been, instead of knowing the person she ended up becoming. you think perhaps that the comfort of lies would have been better for them. if they even still existed.(you hadn't accounted for the possibility of actually meeting them.)





	1. abyss

_For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.  
_

__

__

_So collapse. _

_Crumble. _

_This is not your destruction. _

_ **This is your birth.**_

\-- 

horde prime arrives, and it is catastrophic. 

you don’t remember how long the battle had lasted. days, weeks perhaps, where you barely slept a wink, where you began to forget what adora felt like and only remembered what she-ra felt like. your muscles ached, but you refused to let yourself stop for even a moment, refused to let your guard down for even a moment. 

and in the end, the rebellion had finally managed to gain the upper hand. entrapta had reroute all of the bots she had constructed for the horde and sent them attacking their own soldiers. the princess alliance formed together, rushing the battlefield to create one thing; an opening, for she-ra to slip through the ranks and finally confront horde prime himself, where he has remained vigil in front of the portal he had opened to etheria. 

you had made quick work of his defenses. no bots, no guards, nothing to stand between her and the man who had started it all. the man who intended on conquering the universe, bit by bit, until there was nothing left untouched. until every known creature bowed to only him. 

your hatred tastes like ash on your tongue. 

you attack him. 

he is stronger than he looks, enough to defend himself, but not strong enough to stop you. you strike him over and over, blow upon blow upon blow, but he never seems to budge, and he blocks your attacks with ease. it sends bouts of anger and frustration through your gut, as you rain another strike down upon him -- and this time he catches your blow with his own weapon. sparks fly in between the two of you as your weapons lock together, a struggle for strength, for the upper hand. 

“give it up,” you growl through gritted teeth. “it’s over, you’re never going to take this planet.” 

to your surprise, and your rage, horde prime has the audacity to laugh. you want to grab him by the scruff of his neck and send him back through his stupid portal, back to whatever hell he had come from. 

“care to share the joke with the rest of us?” 

“you are not the first magical hero i have faced, one chosen to wield a sword and save a planet from destruction. you are not the first to have thought that they have beaten me.” 

confusion, mistrust, suspicion. what is he talking about? “you’ve met other she-ras before?” 

horde prime only begins to laugh more. “silly little girl, there is more out there in the universe than you are even capable of comprehending.” 

suddenly, electricity erupts from his weapon, traveling up into your sword, into your hands, under your skin. it crawls up your arms, spreads into your chest, your neck, your legs. it’s everywhere, you can’t make it stop, you can’t move can’t breathe can’t-- 

you drop the sword. the ground rushes to meet you when you collapse. she-ra is gone, and you’re left in your civilian clothes, the electricity still lingering in your nerves, the twitches still overtaking your body. you’re struggling to breathe, to think, you can’t seem to order your limbs to move; you can’t even attempt to crawl away as horde prime steps closer, watching you, can’t even reach for the sword as he takes it in his hands, surveying it with calculating eyes. 

he tosses it behind him, too far for you to reach. 

“reality is often disappointing, is it not?” horde prime twirls his weapon in his hand, electricity still crackling at its end. he smirks down at you as you continue to twitch helplessly. “the good cannot always defeat the bad. the bad are not always as bad as the good believe they are. the good are not always as good as they think themselves to be. in the end, we are all just mere specks of dust in an incredibly vast universe, and it will be here long after all of us have vanished.” 

the electric end of his weapon presses hard against your abdomen; your body instantly goes rigid against your will, a cry of pain wrenching out of your throat as though it’s been squeezed out by force. horde prime pulls it away, leaving a charred hole in your jacket, your shirt, and a terrible burn sizzling into your flesh. 

“it is all inevitable, i’m afraid.” the opposite end of the weapon cracks across your face, and blood spills in rivers. “what are we, when compared to a universe so big that we cannot even fully comprehend it? the universe is infinite, oh mighty she-ra, far more infinite than you and your precious planet.” a boot, made of steel and smelling of blood, presses into your throat, slowly increasing the pressure. “when this planet is snuffed out, along with you and your little rebellion, the universe will continue to stand, in all its glory.” 

you try to gasp for breath, but no air comes in. you can’t even move your still-twitching hands to attempt to lift his foot off. not once has he spared a look at your face, too preoccupied with surveying the battle around them. 

“i, however, will not be so easily removed.” the foot presses down harder, and your mouth gapes open, like a fish out of water. “even when i am gone, there are countless clones to take my place. countless others who will bend to my whim, and will stop at nothing until the universe bends to us. and isn’t that something? doesn’t that sound beautiful?” 

from the bottom end of his mysterious weapon, a blade emerges; it is long, impossibly sharp, glinting in the brightness of the dawn. 

you cannot even make a sound to call for help before the blade sinks between your ribs. 

you almost cannot feel it. it was almost gentle, like a kiss, a steel caress. a sharp prick at your back tells you that it’s gone all the way through you. darkness begins to tunnel your vision, the lack of oxygen finally beginning to take over your senses. 

“it is a true pity that you will not get to see it for yourself, she-ra.” 

finally, horde prime turns and gazes at your face...and something changes. he gazes at you, and there is something in his eyes, something like recognition, that alights his expression. his boot lifts away from your throat, you gasp almost violently, greedily sucking air into your lungs like nectar from the sweetest flowers, honey from the sweetest combs. your vision clears, and your eyes dart from his face, to the blade still embedded into your body, pinning you to the ground. nowhere to run. no one to save you. 

horde prime, to your shock, begins to crouch at your head, his gaze surveying your face, taking in your features. his clawed hand snatches you by the hair, allowing him to turn your face this way and that, like he is inspecting a prized pig about to be sent to the slaughterhouse. his grin becomes impossibly wide, almost cheshire, and his deep laugh reverberates on the insides of your ribs. you can only sneer at him with as much hate as you can, even as the pain finally begins to catch up with you. 

“how fitting,” he comments, the fingers of his free hand brushing across your cheekbones, your nose, tugging at your ears, his hand still in a vice-like grip against your scalp, claws digging and drawing blood. “the universe is so big, but it can be so very small as well. how fitting that you had fallen into hordak’s hands when he came here, that you were raised as a soldier to fight our cause. i had always wondered what became of you when you vanished. it is almost...poetic. what would they think of you now, little one? how disappointed they would be to find out what has become of you...because they failed to protect you.” 

confusion bleeds into fear, as his grip becomes endlessly tighter, yanking until your face is just inches from his. his hot, disgusting breath hits your face; it feels like bugs are crawling across your skin. 

“how tragic that their precious little girl became the very thing they sought to destroy. did you think that becoming the she-ra would fix everything you have done? i would have thought they would train you better than that.” 

still keeping the tight grip on your hair, horde prime begins to stand, looking triumphant, like he knows he has already won. 

“perhaps it will be fitting for you to die in the place you were born, alone, just like you always have been. with no one to protect you. doesn’t that sound beautiful, princess?” 

not even a beat passes before the blade is ripped out of you, and suddenly you are acutely aware of how much blood there is. the ground beneath you is dark and wet, the red of your jacket is not the same shade anymore; you only need to glance slightly down until you can spot the way it is spreading into your white shirt. oh stars, it’s everywhere. there’s so much of it. 

oh stars, you’re going to die. 

horde prime begins to drag you violently by your hair, wrenching a cry of agony that escapes through gritted teeth, a poor desperate attempt to not appear weak, even as you stare death in the face. your eyes crack open, frantically searching for someone, anyone, to call for help, but no one is there. the battle has continued to rage on, and you are alone. 

you spot the sword as it passes by. weakly, feebly, you try to reach for it. i’m nothing without the sword, the sword can heal me, if i could just - 

“adora!” 

you glance frantically upwards, searching for the voice that has called to you. though your vision has begun to blur, you can see swift wind diving through the air, carrying bow and glimmer and - someone else, someone you can’t quite make out. you want to reach out to them, to call for help, but your limbs feel like lead, and your voice is gone, stolen. 

there’s a thrumming, vibrating sensation covering your skin that makes you glance out the corner of your eyes. all you see is the violently swirling colours of the portal, the damned portal that started this whole war in the first place. you understand now, what horde prime was intending to do. 

he’s going to throw you in. 

your body seizes up and you try to thrash in his grip, try to fight him off. you were raised as a soldier, you are a soldier, you do not lie down and accept your fate, not until there is no scrap of fight left in your body. you cannot let him get rid of you, etheria needs you, etheria needs she-ra, you can’t- 

horde prime hauls you up to your feet, grabbing onto your shirt collar, and he is the only thing that is holding you up. you can feel the portal whirring and sparking at your back, your legs have given up, there is no strength left in them. horde prime takes in your face once again, his grin malicious, satisfied, smug. 

you spit in his stupid face. 

his grin twists into a snarl, wiping away the saliva roughly, but he doesn’t relinquish his grip on you. your fists beat at his mechanical arm, even though you know it is useless. your gaze darts up, swift wind is getting closer, and closer, and you can almost make out that last figure that he is carrying. lithe, dressed in red armor, a red crown framing the sides of her face- 

“adora!” 

_catra?_

horde prime bestows one last wicked smile. “goodnight, princess. safe travels.” 

he throws you. 

“_**adora!**_” 

nothing.

\-- 

_when you left, who do you think took the fall for you? who was protecting me then? _

_ we can’t trust her bow! _

_ you’re a heartless destroyer! _

_ because you left me! _

_ do not disappoint me._

“stay with me, adora. please don’t give up yet.” 

_you’re not the she-ra from the stories. _

_ i didn’t want you to come back, adora! _

_ then...you can’t save us? _

_ you never protected me! _

_ the princesses don’t care about you. they want to use you for your strength._

“you’re going to be okay, princess. i’m here to help you.” 

_mystacor will fall and it will be your fault! _

_ i wonder what i could have been if i had gotten rid of you sooner. _

_ you were nothing before i took you in adora, and you will be nothing without me. _

_ really, you leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me. _

_ i could not have lied to you about who you are, because i have never known or cared about someone as inconsequential as you._

“i’m so sorry, adora. i failed you once, but i will not fail you again.” 

_if you hadn’t gotten captured, your sword wouldn’t have opened the portal. _

_ if you hadn’t gotten the sword and been the world’s worst she-ra, none of this would have happened. _

_ you took everything from me! _

_ you broke the world and it is all your fault!_

“i know it hurts, sweet girl. i’m right here for you. i’m not going anywhere.” 

_admit it adora! the world would still be standing if you had never come through that portal in the first place. _

...

_  
_

_**hear this song and remember...soon you’ll be home with me, once upon a december…**_

“you’re safe, princess. it’s okay. you can rest now.”


	2. truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you want to open your eyes so badly, but they feel so heavy, so weighted; a new, terrible ache begins to erupt in your bones as you shift where you lay. it is stuffy and hot, but it is soft and so comfortable here. oh, glimmer and bow would love it. you miss them. you wish they were here with you.
> 
> catra would love it too. you can already imagine how she would curl up and sigh contentedly in the warmth. she always liked being warm. you miss her. you wish she was here with you.

_They said I was found by the side of a road_  
_There were tracks all around, it had recently snowed_  
_In the darkness and cold, with the wind in the trees_  
_A girl with no name, and no memories but these._

\-- 

you wake up feeling unpleasantly warm. 

you want to open your eyes so badly, but they feel so heavy, so weighted; a new, terrible ache begins to erupt in your bones as you shift where you lay. it is stuffy and hot, but it is soft and so comfortable here. oh, glimmer and bow would love it. you miss them. you wish they were here with you. 

catra would love it too. you can already imagine how she would curl up and sigh contentedly in the warmth. she always liked being warm. you miss her. you wish she was here with you. 

where are you? 

you curl your fingers into a tight fist, gripping around the blankets that are draped over you. you listen carefully, and begin to register the crackling of a fire. you never want to leave this peaceful middle-ground. it’s so quiet. you finally feel like you can breathe, just for this moment. wherever you are, it is almost silent save for the fire, and the rise and fall of your own breath. 

you still cannot seem to muster the strength to open your eyes, much to your dismay. a sharp pain begins throbbing in your abdomen, between the lowest half of your ribs; it is so sudden that a whimper crawls into your throat, escaping through the tiniest crack in between your lips. 

“oh!” a voice arises from the corner of the room, and footsteps move in to approach the edge of the bed. gentle hands, kind and nurturing, begin to ease your head back down onto the bed. “princess, please, you’re very hurt. you need rest.” 

she sounds just like queen angella. 

the memory of the lost queen makes you ache, a sharp pang of longing, of agony, begins to constrict your chest, pressing tight into your lungs. a pained noise, almost like a wounded animal, claws its way out of your throat, and only part of it is because of the physical pain you are in. your moans of pain are hoarse, gravelly, and you’re vaguely aware of your own thirst. your throat feels like it’s on fire. your heart aches. you want to go back to brightmoon, back to your bed. you just want the pain to go away. 

the stranger’s hands are soft, they brush your hair from your face with the gentleness of a mother, and one palm presses across your forehead. the touch is so kind that it makes you want to cry. you can feel a weak sob crawling up your throat. it escapes. the hands do not leave your face, they do not even flinch. 

“shhh, i know it hurts, princess.” 

i’m not a princess though. she-ra is the princess, not me. 

“you have a very high fever right now, and your wound became infected. your body is struggling to fight it right now.” 

_i could have healed myself by now if i had my sword._

“i need you to be strong for me, okay? you must keep fighting. don’t give up just yet.” 

_i can do that. i’m good at fighting. i can be strong._

“they’ve waited so long for you, adora. you don’t know them, but they have never forgotten you. fight for them, adora.” 

_who are you talking about? how do you know my name?_

“rest, child. you’re safe with me.” 

darkness. 

\-- 

the next time you awaken, it is to the sound of hushed, tearful voices. 

the room is still warm, but it feels pleasant now, comfortable. your head feels clearer, and coherent, though your abdomen still throbs and feels like it has been set ablaze. the pain makes you wince, so you tune your ears to the conversation happening across the room. 

“i did not think we would ever see her again.” a man’s voice, strong, firm, unyielding. though his voice exudes strength, you think he may be a gentle soul at heart. 

“nor did i, duncan. it has been so long that i had lost hope.” that voice again, the one so similar to queen angella’s. “but here she is. she looks just like him.” 

“a splitting image, that is for certain.” there’s a pause, where you can almost feel the eyes fixed upon your form. you fight to keep yourself completely still. “you said she was wounded when you found her?” 

“had i arrived any later, she surely would have died there. it was awful, duncan, the infection had already taken hold and i had feared that i was too late to save her...you and i already know too well how that feels.” 

“you are not to blame any more than i. we did our best, and we have spent every waking day living with the guilt ever since. and you saved her this time, does that not count for something?” 

the woman seems to sigh in affirmation. “she’s all grown up, now. and none of us had the chance to see it happen.” 

“it is undeniably cruel. we failed her in that regard, but...perhaps this is a chance to make up for all that lost time.” the man sighs, his voice full of fondness. “that is her mother’s nose.” 

“her father’s jaw, and his brow. and their combined determination, it seems. the infection should have killed her, but her fever broke overnight and it’s begun healing steadily.” 

“a fighter, just like we always knew she would be. as though we would have any reason to doubt it. she is a descendant of grayskull, after all.” 

“that, she is.” 

you hardly even have the chance to process what they are saying about you before two pairs of steps begin to approach your bedside, silence in between them. the creaking of old wood suggests that one of them has seated themselves at your side, and the sinking of the mattress suggests the other has sat next to you. a hand closes over yours, big and calloused fingers curling, until your own hand is being held delicately by this stranger. his thumb brushes softly across your knuckles, across the back of your hand. 

the touch is so soft, and it makes you think of when you saw king micah in the portal. how kind he was. how loving he was. glimmer was so lucky to have had him, though it was only for a short time. 

the man squeezes your hand, like he fears you will disappear if he lets go. “i always prayed this day would come. and i promise that no harm will come to you again, adora.” 

you squeeze back. 

a gasp. “adora? are you awake, child?” 

you can’t form words, you can only muster a soft hum of affirmation to confirm the question. those gentle hands from before press against your forehead, then down to hold the edges of your face. 

“don’t strain yourself, princess, you’ve been through a great ordeal.” 

slowly, ever-so-slowly, you crack your eyes open, groaning at the sudden light entering your vision. you turn your head involuntarily into the touch of the woman, attempting to shy away; the woman softly caresses your cheek, shushing you delicately. 

“there is no need to hide.” a thumb moves to brush against your brow. “let me see those eyes, sweet girl.” 

it takes more than one attempt to adjust to the light of the room, before your eyes can truly open and take in your surroundings. your vision is blurred and incoherent, you can only make out the shapes of those at your side, can barely make out their features when you glimpse at their faces. 

the hand has not yet released yours, and it squeezes with a newfound vigor. “you are just as i imagined you, adora.” 

you open your mouth to speak, to ask him what he means by that, but all that comes out is a hoarse, pained sound. no words can even form, you’ve realized just how thirsty you are. and as though they could read your mind, a hand has curled behind your head and has begun to lift it from the pillows, a glass of clear liquid held at your lips. 

you do your best to drink steadily. your energy only lasts for a few swigs, and you are already out of breath, panting for air. your throat still hurts, but it was helpful nonetheless. 

“you know who i am?” is the first thing you manage to croak out. 

as your vision begins to clear, you can finally make out the man sitting at your side, still gripping your hand, now with the other closed overtop of your own. he’s wearing armor - a soldier, perhaps - coloured green and gold, glinting in the glow of the fireplace. his face is all sharp angles and straight edges, thick brows and a thicker moustache at his lip. though his face conveys that of a hardened warrior, you can see the laugh-lines on his cheeks, the crows feet at the edges of his eyes. and his eyes, though dark and brooding, are gentle, so very gentle that it takes your breath away. and they are looking at you as though you are holding the universe in the palms of your hands, as though you’ve touched the skies themselves with your own fingertips. 

“i was there when you were born, adora,” he states with a kind smile. “but you were far too young to know who i am. my name is duncan, i have been in the service of your family since i was a young lad.” 

“my family?” you rasp, straining to lift your head from the pillows. “you-” 

the presence at your side is already reaching out and easing your head back down, brushing your hair from your forehead. your eyes dart to the side to take in the figure, and immediately, your heart clenches tight within the cage of your ribs. 

she is not queen angella, but the similarities are enough to have you close to weeping. 

her skin is darker, her eyes an entrancing black that could easily ensnare someone. while long locks of teal hair drape across her shoulders, a golden headpiece adorns her head, a golden falcon’s head, with eyes glowing a vibrant red. and upon her back, great ivory wings are folded inwards, but you can tell that if they were fully extended, they could easily take up the room. you look upon her face, and she seems kind, and so very sad, but with a tinge of relief, and the air she carries is...borderline maternal. 

your heart aches even more for angella. 

“please don’t exert yourself, princess, you are still recovering.” the smile that she gives you is so gentle you want to cry. “you must relax, alright?” 

you have so many things you wish to say, but what ends up coming out is: 

“i’m not a princess.” 

their reactions are difficult to read; they exchange a look that contains so much weight in them that it feels almost wrong to witness it, even though it likely concerns you. duncan is the first to break his gaze away and return it to you, and he squeezes your hand delicately, as though he is afraid that whatever he is about to say will hurt you. 

“you are a grown woman now, adora. and there are plenty of questions that we are certain that you want to ask, and we will do our best to answer them to the best of our abilities. you deserve to know the truth...the raw, whole truth.” 

the woman places a hand to your forehead, and she keeps it there, letting her warmth seep into your skin. “but first, please allow me to examine your wounds. do you feel capable of eating something?” 

you are so full of questions that you had not even thought about food, or even your wounds. “i don’t know...maybe a little.” 

the pair exchange a glance that does not need words; duncan bestows a smile and a final squeeze to your hand before he stands from the bed, letting your hand slip from his grasp before he steps out of the room. his steps echo far down the stone halls until they disappear completely. 

the woman is already shuffling the blankets down; your jacket and shirt are gone, the bandages wrapped nearly half your torso, from the center of your sternum to the bottom of your ribcage. alongside it, a square patch of gauze has been taped over a section of your stomach. the sight is enough to send the memories reeling back into your mind; horde prime, the portal, the battle. it is so much to take in that it makes you feel dizzy, and the worry suddenly takes hold; what happened after you were thrown through the portal? did they stop horde prime? did they lose? are your friends safe, or are they dead? 

were you seeing things, or did you actually see catra coming to your aid? 

“i found you just beyond the castle,” the woman states, snapping you out of your reverie. she is working on undoing the knot on the bandages. “you were unconscious and close to death, adora. your wounds were already infected...i had feared that perhaps it was too late.” 

the way she says this, like she couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, makes you want to reach out to her. you don’t. you attempt to give her a smile instead. “it definitely takes more than that to kill me.” 

the woman returns your smile, and it’s tinged with familiarity. “i would expect no less from you.” 

it feels as though she already knows so much about you, yet you do not know a thing about her. you’re unsure of how to feel about it. “you know my name, but i don’t think i know yours.” 

“you may call me sorceress,” is her reply. “it is what most call me. it is what i am, after all.” 

you can’t help but tilt your head in curiosity. “that isn’t your name though...is it?” 

the sorceress does not meet your gaze, but you can tell she knows you are looking. she remains fixated on her work. “you need not concern yourself with it, dear one, it is not important.” 

you can tell there is something she is hiding, but you are not going to pry into the life of a woman you’ve only just met. you allow her to work silently, following the pair of scissors that she procures, following the way she cuts through the bandages straight up, as the pristine white falls away. beneath, a cotton bandage has been placed over the lovely stab wound you received from horde prime, stained a faint, rusted red. you want to tear your eyes away, but you can’t seem to find the energy to...and a wince crosses you when the sorceress removes the protective layer, revealing the damage beneath it. 

it is not long, barely spanning past two inches, but what it lacks in length is made up for in depth, you presume. the wound is stitched cleanly, with neat sutures that you do not recognize from any sort of first aid training you received in the horde; learning to stitch oneself up was a required skill for those who would one day work in the field, soldier or force captain or commander. medics would not always be present after all. the sutures closed the wound, but you can still see how bad it truly had been -- you can see the inflammation surrounding it, patches of cloudy pus that dried along the edges, 

one of the many signs of infection that you learned as a young cadet. 

it is startling to realize that you would be dead if not for this stranger, this sorceress, who saved you and who seems to know more about you than yourself. 

_she knows who you are. ask her._

you wince and clear your throat, hoping to get her attention. it works easily; she glances up from her work of shaking a label-less bottle and allowing the contents to seep into the clean cloth in her other hand. she seems to already know what you are after, from the way she smiles and begins to work at your wound. 

“this is going to sting,” she says as she dabs at the outer edges of the wound. the liquid in the cloth begins to seep in and sends sharp stings of pain through your nerves. “you must have so many questions, adora. i will be happy to answer them to the best of my abilities.” 

your jaw is clenched, your teeth ground together, because the last thing you need is to display more weakness than you already have. you want to at least keep some shred of dignity...it could be all you have left at this point. 

“you...you know who i am.” 

“i do.” 

“how? i’ve never met you before in my life. i don’t even recognize this place...the last thing i remember is the portal and...nothing.” 

something terribly sorrowful crosses the woman’s face, something almost pained. you want to reach out to her, to comfort her, but you can’t find the strength in your arms to do so. instead, you watch her spine straighten, her chin rise, and she frees one hand to grasp onto yours; her grip is fierce, and so protective that it takes your breath away. 

“what would you like to know?” 

... 

your first memories are of the horde. 

the hissing of the pipes. creaks of loose panels in the floors. the dripping of leaks in the barracks. a cold, commanding hand on your cheek, brushing your hair from your face. the weight on the end of your bed, the purrs that reverberates in your chest long after your friend had fallen into slumber. 

you used to have strange dreams, but you don’t remember them anymore. 

sometimes, you recalled electricity, hot and painful, those cold hands pressed to your temples. sharp pains in your skull that would last for days. scrapes, bumps, aches that lasted for ages. bruises on your knuckles, broken bones, concussions that left you dizzy, the bump in your nose where the break did not heal correctly. bandage your cuts, brush off the dirt, get up and keep fighting. it’s what a good soldier would do, and that is all you’ve ever wanted. 

you’re hurt? walk it off. it could have been worse. 

make her proud, make her proud, make her proud. that’s all you would have ever wanted. make her proud of you, make it worth her while. 

those are the first things you are able to picture. 

if there was one thing that you had always known, it was where you came from. 

just a tiny baby, shadow weaver had told you, left behind in the whispering woods, left to die, snivelling and wailing into the night. the whispering woods are dangerous, especially for the defenseless, it was a miracle that nothing had ever come close to touching you for however long you had been there. 

shadow weaver said it was why she took you in. surely an infant surviving in the whispering woods without aid is an infant that was special. but upon further inspection, your commanding officer had come to feel the power that surged within you. the potential you held was unmatched, in shadow weaver’s eyes, and she knew in moments that she would take you and raise you to become great. 

you once asked her why you were left behind, begged to know why in fact, and it had angered her. she had snapped at you, told you that you had been unwanted and left to die in those woods...and when your eyes filled with tears, she had brushed your hair out of your face and cooed that it was her alone who could love you the way you deserved. they did not want you, but i want you. and you’re going to do great things, adora. 

it had once filled you with pride to know that shadow weaver had seen something so special in you so early in your life, when you were a barely functioning infant. that even when violent shivers raced up your spine when she brushed her palm across the side of your face, even when warnings disguised as gentle scoldings kept you awake through nights where your gaze remained transfixed on the door, even when you said something you should not have, and she gripped your bicep like a vice fit to combust, you never stopped wanting her approval. 

you try to tell yourself it means nothing, but instead it means everything. 

and in the end, it had all been a lie. 

you can still recall the twisting in your gut when shadow weaver practically raved about your origin, the same origin she had always told you didn’t matter. the same one she had told you hadn’t mattered, and suddenly every doubt you ever had came reeling back into your mind. were you really unwanted? were you really abandoned? how did this happen? how could this happen to you? you felt like you couldn’t breathe; the air in the room was suffocating, so you bolted and you did not allow yourself to break until you could face light hope yourself, until you could demand the answers you deserved to have. 

you demanded to know where you came from, and light hope showed you. 

_this is the portal you came through, adora._

it was like your heart had fallen into the pit of your stomach, the sight of the swirling violet mass of energy slowly shrinking until it disappeared entirely. the sound of a baby crying -- the sound of you crying -- sent a violent chill up your spine. 

you wanted so badly to cry in that moment, or to scream, or throw whatever you could get your hands on; you wanted to react, you wanted just a moment to grieve the life you could have had. it wasn’t fair, you were just a child, you were a baby and you never even had a chance at happiness. it had all been ripped away before you even had a chance to understand what it was, and it makes you so angry. 

lie after lie after lie, your whole life has just been a swirling pot of lies disguised as truth; and you would sip from this pot and think that it was good, that nothing was wrong with it. but the truth would always return in the end, and the sweetness quickly turned bitter, poisonous, bad bad bad. you found yourself so desperately wishing that you could have been completely unremarkable, completely uninteresting; perhaps if you were, you would be happy with people who loved you from the start. you wished there was no destiny, no prophecy, no magic sword or evil horde, no planet to save. you wish you had a chance to just...be. 

everything you once thought to be truth had turned out to be a lie. 

the poison still chokes you. your face is black and blue and the antidote is right within your reach, but no one will relinquish it. you are suffocating under the lies, and you just want to know the truth. do you not deserve a shred of honesty, after everything you’ve been through? 

you gaze deeply into the sorceress’ eyes, and you cannot find the curtains with which to conceal the truth. she is open, and patient, and she is waiting for you to ask...whatever you wish to ask. where do you even start? what does one ask first in the face of their past finally coming to light? 

you inhale, and it is a shaky, nervous breath. “I...i don’t know where to start.” 

the sorceress smiles, and the patient understanding takes your breath away. “perhaps i can start at the beginning?” 

any words you may have had get caught in your throat, so you nod, and the sorceress continues her work as she speaks. 

“twenty standard years ago, a foreign ship crashed on our planet, eternia. inside, it carried a space traveler from many galaxies away, named marlena annatrova-glenn. her ship had been knocked off its intended course, and she was stranded with no way of returning home. the young king randor had just been crowned after the disappearance of his father, king miro, when he met and befriended the stranger from another world, vowing to help her return to her home planet. however...things changed the longer she remained on the planet. she was unlike any woman the young king had ever met...stubborn and brave and always looking for the best in others.” 

the sorceress smiles, as though she is lost in a distant memory. she rinses the rag and wrings the excess water from it, dunks it in that same mysterious stinging concoction, and continues on with carefully clearing the discharge from the wound. 

“it was hardly long before king randor was absolutely smitten with marlena...and it was not long before she was the same. and when the time came to return to her home planet, the king had resigned himself to knowing he would never see her again...but he could not be so selfish as to ask her to stay just for him. but marlena turned away from her ship and told the king she would accept death before she could be apart from him.” 

something warm settles in your chest, soft and gentle, like a hug. it’s a touching story...and as it continues, you find yourself yearning to know them. to meet them. you want that kind of love so badly that it aches. 

“they married, and queen marlena would soon become pregnant with twins. eternia had never been happier...there was abundant peace and prosperity under randor’s rule, and everything was perfection. and when the queen finally gave birth, it was cause for celebration...the birth of a healthy prince and princess, in the first month of the year, at the cusp of the winter season.” 

the sorceress tears her gaze away from treating the wound to survey your face. you aren’t sure what she sees behind your eyes, but you know she can see the yearning in the way you press your lips together, attempting to hold the questions in. you can’t seen to gauge what she is thinking just from the way she is watching you. 

“i was there to assist in the birth. randor stayed for the entire duration of her labour, regardless of who encouraged him to attend his duties. he refused to let his wife out of his sight, even for a moment. the princess arrived first and it felt as though she could be heard from the other side of the planet. a healthy set of lungs on that one, that is for certain. i remember the queen’s face when she heard the cries of her firstborn...so joyful and close to tears. immediately, she demanded her daughter to be placed in her arms, even as she would soon be delivering the second twin. with her newborn daughter on her chest, she then delivered the prince, who was completely silent. it had been so eerily quiet that we would have assumed him to be dead, had it not been for his breathing and steady heartbeat.” 

the sorceress turns her gaze back to your injury, leaving you to exhale sharply. the ache that sits heavy in your ribcage only seems to grow, the longing threatening to tear you open from the inside out. _i wish they were my parents, i want them to be mine, please let them be mine._

“i will never forget the way the king looked at them all...his wife, his daughter, his son, and he held them like they were born of the sun and they were the most precious things to exist from it. there was so much love in that room, it was breathtaking to witness, adora. i want you to know that.” 

your brows furrow, puzzled. “Why?” 

the sorceress sighed deeply, so deeply that her wings shifted with the force of it. “the king and queen had already decided upon names before the two were born. the prince they named adam, and the princess…” a pause, a contemplation. there’s something in the sorceress’ eyes that are almost unsettling, scary, as if she knows something you do not. “the princess...they named adora.” 

oh...perhaps she does after all. 

you feel as though your chest is about to collapse in on itself. is it from happiness? anger? grief? can anger and happiness exist in one instance? can one grieve for something they never had in the first place? do you even have the right to grieve for what you could have had with them if you’ve never even met them? do you even have the right to call them your parents? 

do they even want you anymore? could they, if they find out about everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve done? what you were raised to become, what you were told to destroy? 

the sorceress does not allow you to dwell on these thoughts, she simply continues to speak as she brandishes a fresh roll of gauze and a new cotton bandage to cover the stab wound. “just weeks after you and your brother were born, an army arrived in eternia’s atmosphere, lead by someone named horde prime. he demanded we cede our land to his control, lest we suffer the consequences of defying him. of course, the king refused him, and gathered his armies to defend the land against the invasion. 

“what we had not anticipated, however, was someone on the inside, working for horde prime against us.” something akin to pain crosses over the woman’s brow. “randor’s half-brother, prince keldor, had been the only smear on king miro’s life...a bastard child born out of marriage, half-eternian and half-gar. and though he was raised as a prince alongside his brother, keldor had always harbored a deep jealousy of randor. horde prime filled his head with fantasies of taking power from his half-brother and being a powerful sorcerer, if he only did exactly what horde prime instructed him to do...and he could have everything he ever wanted. 

“keldor agreed...and his orders were to kidnap the baby prince and princess and bring them to horde prime to be held as ransom against the king. in the face of potentially losing the lives of his newborn children, horde prime knew that there was no possible way randor could refuse it. while the forces of horde prime attacked the city, and randor and his forces fought back, keldor enacted his plan and entered the nursery to take you and adam...but he found your mother in the nursery, rocking your shared crib and standing guard over the two of you. keldor knew marlena well, knew there was no possible way he could convince her to leave...he pulled his blaster from his belt and held it to her temple, ordering her to step away from the crib and no one would get hurt. marlena...she had always known keldor as her brother-in-law, she had placed her children in their uncle’s arms many times before.” 

as she begins to wind the new bandages over your torso, she looked at you with a softness that makes you feel sick. “i can stop, if you would like. i know this must be difficult to hear.” 

you almost take her up on the offer, because you feel close to throwing up from hearing all of this new information. the only thing holding you back from it is your stubbornness, your desire for the whole truth and nothing else. you’ve lived too many lies in your life...do you not deserve to know what really happened to you as a baby? 

“please keep going. i...i need to know.” 

she nods and continues with her work. “keldor held her at gunpoint long enough to reach the cradle...marlena begged him to see reason, you were his niece and nephew, you were both so young, and had done nothing to him. whatever hurt and jealousy keldor held, it involved randor and miro, not you. but...he was too far gone to see reason anymore. he wanted power, and he did not care who would suffer in his quest to achieve it. marlena could see it in his eyes...and so she drew the blaster she had holstered to her leg, and fired at him. she narrowly missed, but the blast was loud enough to alert duncan, who had just been promoted as the royal family’s head guard and advisor on military affairs. duncan arrived and attempted to take him down, but keldor had already acted too quickly...he snatched you from the cradle and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. 

you can’t even begin to express how you are feeling at this knowledge. tears have begun to brim at the corners of your eyes, though you are doing your best to suppress them, to keep them from falling. the sorceress sees them immediately, and reaches out to brush her thumb against your brow, comfortingly. 

“there is no shame in crying, my dear. i know how painful this must be for you to hear. would you like me to continue?” 

you want to let go so badly, but the stubbornness you’ve always harbored is holding you back from allowing it. crying makes you weak, crying makes you vulnerable, you cannot let that happen or they will use it against you. all that you can muster is a weak nod. 

“the king and queen were devastated at the thought of never seeing you again. duncan and myself brought it upon ourselves to find where keldor had taken you, and to retrieve you ourselves. keldor, meanwhile, had taken you straight to horde prime...but he had failed. he had brought one, but his mission had been to bring both of you...so horde prime settled to punish him for his failure, by throwing acid into his face, permanently disfiguring him for life. and with his punishment, he was cast out...but you, adora, stayed in his clutches. 

“duncan and i did our best, but...we were too late. a portal had opened from a mysterious dimension, and we had no choice but to watch horde prime send you through...just a little baby, gone right before our eyes. and…” the sorceress suddenly reaches out and grabs at your hand, squeezing it like a lifeline, looking into your eyes with an almost desperate gleam. “adora, i wish that we could have done more. we failed to keep you safe, and you suffered immeasurable consequences because of our failure. your mother and father were beside themselves with the grief of losing you...duncan and myself were beside ourselves in the wake of our failure to save you from your fate. your parents searched for you for fifteen long, agonizing years, watching your brother grow up and wondering what could have been if you were still here. adam grew up with the idea that he would never know his lost twin. the search had to be put to rest, but no one had given up on you...though we feared you were dead, or lost forever, hope was all that was left for us.” 

you can’t hold it back any longer; the tears come spilling in hot rivers, the sobs rattle your chest violently. your free hand rushes to cover your mouth, to muffle your cries, but the damage has already been done and you can’t seem to make it stop. you sound like a wounded animal, choking on grief and anguish and longing that you had pushed away for the greater good of etheria, because that’s what you were supposed to do...you were supposed to let go, but how could you do that? how can you possibly let go now that you know the truth? 

your cries seem to only get louder, more animalistic, the dam bursting in your chest, as though the explosives rigged to it had finally detonated, and now there’s nothing stopping from everything spilling out. the sorceress gently slips her hands underneath your back, easing you up into a sitting position, and she folds you in her arms the way queen angella used to, with her wings moving to encase you there. it’s protective and maternal, the kind of affection you spent your whole life craving, but never receiving in the place you thought to be your home. you barely know this woman, but you feel like you always have, and you can’t move past the fact that you were supposed to. you inhale, it’s shaky and stunted and wet, your chest burns where your wound is located, but it is nothing compared to your emotional agony. it is unbearable, the pain demands to be felt and it refuses to be ignored any longer. you press your face into her neck, and you break. 

your wails surely echo down the hall, sharp enough to pierce bone and steel, loud enough to send the birds scattering into the air outside. your entire body is trembling, the pain of it all is unbearable and you can’t seem to stop it. it just keeps pouring out of you, and never-ending river of sorrow that turns into raging rapids, rocks that are too sharp and control that is too weak. and even though it feels like your chest is on fire, it feels good to break like this, freeing, it feels good to be held calmly and without judgement of your inner turmoils. you cry and cry until your voice is hoarse and your joints ache from your shaking, from gripping the sorceress like she is the life raft in the rapids of your emotions. you cry until you can’t even muster the energy anymore, until there is nothing left to let go...you feel one of the wings enclosing you in this embrace shift open, and that familiar calloused hand settles against your shoulder blades, rubbing in gentle, fatherly circles that begin to ease your heaving breaths. 

for the first time in your life, you feel...a sliver of peace, and it is real. unfabricated, untainted, untouched by selfish hands that wish to do you harm. just...peace. 

a smell wafts into your nose, prompting you to turn away from the sorceress to pinpoint the source. a bowl had been placed upon the stand next to the bed, full of a steaming hot liquid. soup, likely what duncan had been fetching while the sorceress changed your dressings. 

“it would be good for you to eat something to build your strength,” duncan says, helping the sorceress ease you from her grip and settle you against the pillows, allowing you to sit up on your own. 

now that you have been pried from her arms, you can see the way your tears have stained her clothing, and you cringe. “sorry...” 

“there is nothing to forgive, sweet girl, you needed that more than ever, it seemed.” 

their kindness and understanding feels...almost too good to be true. you scrubs the remaining tears from your tears with a weak, thankful smile. your throat stings too much to even attempt more words right now...your cries were enough to convey your feelings plenty, it seems. 

the sorceress slips off the bed, taking her supplies with her, and duncan takes her place, plucking the bowl off the stand. “do you want help, or would you like to try it yourself?” though your arms ache, you are far too embarrassed to be hand-fed. you hold your hands out, and duncan places the bowl in your hands without question, without a word. you find yourself feeling so immensely grateful...even though they are strangers, they...they care about you. it’s almost overwhelming how much they care about someone they only knew as a baby. 

the sorceress returns to your side and seats herself in the chair, reaching out to brush her fingers across your knee. “adora...you have been deprived of your family and their love for...far too long. when you are well...it would be our honour to finally bring you back home. where you belong.” 

somehow, a few stray tears begin to brim in your eyes. there is no question, no consideration, no hesitation needed. 

“i...i think i would like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooo mama this took me awhile......hope you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> spending all that time writing about adora's family in my series _any way the wind blows_ really made me want to write out adora meeting her family and finding a home in canon events. after doing a rewatch and seeing adora struggling to come to terms with her origins just breaks my heart. she's under the impression that she will never get to meet them because of etheria's inability to withstand portals opening from that side. adora has been through the fucking ringer guys, i want her to find an identity in something that she hasn't fixated on, something she hasn't dedicated her life to. she first dedicated herself to the horde, to defeating the rebellion, to obeying shadow weaver's every command. she then dedicated herself to the rebellion, to destroying the place she came from, even though she still holds love for some of the people there. she hyper-fixates on she-ra being the best and only good thing about herself, and feels like if she fails at she-ra then she has nothing left.
> 
> i made a point of sending adora through the portal without the sword because she needs to find an identity that is not forged in a destiny or a calling. this is the point of the hero's journey diagram where her trials and struggles have led her into the abyss, the "death" so to speak. the "death" and "abyss" are what leads to the recovery, and the rebirth. adora needs to find an identity that cannot be found on etheria, a planet where she has too many personal ties to. it all goes back to where she was born.
> 
> i'll give out a free sneak peak of the next chapter to whoever can guess the identity of the voice at the end of the chapter. hint: it is a character primarily found in the masters of the universe shows.
> 
> find me on twitter at @lesbeanadora !


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